


A Card for Mr. Gold

by rowofstars



Series: 31 Days of Fandomas 2018 [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Light Angst, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 03:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: Mr. Gold receives a card on Christmas Eve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this got a bit angsty in the middle there. Unbeta’d so I’m sure it’s typo’d to death. For the first prompt word - card.
> 
> Welcome to the first installment of my 2018 31 Days of Fandomas! Last year I did all fic, but in deference to my significant change in schedule and time this year, I'm letting myself do any fandom content. Still trying to do all 31 days though!

Mr. Gold stared at the bright red envelope on his desk.

Christmas Eve and still the bills and credit card offers and pointless advertisements arrived in his mailbox. He’d even passed a delivery truck on his way home, dropping off last minute purchases. It wasn’t technically the holiday yet, though many people would be celebrating already, and the world did need to go on in spite of the lights and presents and merriment. 

Not that he was paying it any mind. There was no reason to anymore. He hadn’t bothered with a tree or any other decorations for several years, and when he woke up in the morning, it would look like any other day. He might try calling his son if he could get up the courage, otherwise it was just him, his big Victorian house, and a glass of scotch. He preferred it that way, going on as if nothing special were happening, as if the world hadn’t so thoroughly rejected him that someone somewhere might care how he spent his holiday.

The envelope however, had disrupted this.

It was large and square and entirely out of place with the rest of the long, slender pieces of mail he’d carried inside. It didn’t have a formal address on it, just his name - well, the name everyone in Storybrooke knew him by anyway - _Mr. Gold_. It was written in a calligraphy style with a broad edge, the letters reminding him of the style of old manuscripts from the Middle Ages. Something seemed oddly familiar about it though and he frowned as he flipped it over. On the back was a shiny gold sticker holding the flap on the envelope shut, lightly embossed like a faux wax seal, and he ran his finger around it before lifting it open.

The sticker popped free, pulling a small piece of the red paper with it. Inside was a Christmas card, and he stopped. It had been ages since anyone had given him a card for any reason. No one paid Mr. Gold any mind unless they needed to make a deal or owed him rent.

Well, no one except Belle French, the librarian, but she was sweet to everyone. Waving to him every morning as he opened his shop, and making an effort to speak more than two words to him when they ran into each other at Granny’s hardly meant anything. She was friendly and warm to one and all, and if in his loneliest moments he entertained ideas of her sparkling blue eyes and fair skin, that was his business.

Gold shook his head and slid the card out slowly. It was a heavy ivory paper with shiny gold filling in the lettering and a snowflake pattern that didn’t feel as ostentatious as some of the cards in the seasonal aisle in Dark Star pharmacy over the past few weeks. He smirked thinking about how he’d encouraged Henry Mills to buy the ridiculous singing card for his mother, the mayor, complete with a flashing red nose on Rudolph’s face that blinked in time with the song. Regina would love it, and want to murder it at the same time.

But now he was faced with the reality that someone had sent _him_ a card, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Could Regina have found out and attempted to get him back by putting itching powder or something equally nasty in a card? Was it a joke designed to make him feel even worse than he was likely to feel already as he spent another holiday alone?

Bracing himself, he opened the card, scanning the page. His lips pressed together and his throat tightened as he closed it and set it down on the desk next to the envelope. He leaned forward and sucked in a shaky breath before opening the card again. Part of him expected the words to change, but they hadn’t, and his fist clenched as he resisted the urge to shove the entire contents of his desk to the floor, the card included.

The sentiment on the inside of the card was as simple as the outside, with a scrolling Merry Christmas in the same gold letters and a larger snowflake beneath it. But the extra words that had been written stabbed cruelly at his heart.

 _Rumford_.

How had she found out his first name? Oh, the library computer. He’d registered for a card ages ago and of course had to show his driver’s license. Something about her writing his first name made the rest of it hurt more.

_No one should spend Christmas alone._

No, he supposed, no one should, except those who wanted to. He’d always tried to count himself in that category, but deep down he knew it for the lie that it was. His heart and mind were always numb with alcohol by the time he went to bed on every holiday that it felt like it didn’t matter. Then he could wake up the next day and go back to his life, scowling at late renters and taunting the mayor, forgetting all about the ache in his chest.

Yet here it was, in Belle French’s handwriting, a mix of loopy cursive and a slightly sloppy printing that he’d seen more than a few times as she signed her receipts at the diner. Her name at the bottom, a simple _Belle_ , without the need for her last name or any sense of formality, made the sting worse. It was the sort of card one might write a lovely note in to a friend or loved one, but instead she’d reminded him of his pathetic existence.

He picked up the envelope and card, and dropped them in the trash bin next to his desk, then he pushed the pile of unwanted mail into the bin as well, covering the offending card from view. Later he might toss the whole lot of it in the fireplace to burn while he drank himself into oblivion.

Just then the doorbell rang out, sharp and loud in the midst of his angry solitude.

Gold made his way to the door, stalking towards it and leaning more heavily on his cane than usual. His face was a hard scowl as he yanked open the door, rattling the old stained glass window.

“ _What?_ ” he barked, leaning into the space.

Belle French stared back at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open. 

“H-hello,” she said after a moment. Her eyebrows lifted and her lips pressed together.

Gold straightened and blinked in confusion. She was the last person he’d expected to see on his doorstep on Christmas Eve.

“Did you get my card?” she asked, hesitantly.

It was then he noticed her arms full of something, a container wrapped in foil with a paper plate displaying a few cookies sitting on top and covered with cling wrap.

“I - “ he paused and swallowed, watching the little puffs coming from her nose as she breathed in the cold air. “Yes?”

Her head tilted. “You did or you didn’t?”

He was confused, but nodded. “I did, yes. But what -”

She smiled then, and shrugged. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Um, yes, of course.” He frowned a bit and then stepped back, holding the door open for her.

“Thanks,” she said, shivering as the warmth of the house hit her, dispelling the winter chill. “I was hoping you’d see it before I came over.”

She moved to set the items in her arms down on the side table inside the door, and then started unbuttoning her wool coat. It looked like she was planning to stay and Gold though perhaps he’d allowed his general grumpiness to cloud the true meaning of her card.

“I always get the mail before I come home,” he said, absently taking her coat from her as she unwrapped a brightly striped scarf from her neck. He hung both of them up, and then turned around to see Belle French in a red dress, standing in his foyer. “So...um…”

Belle’s face fell. “I’m sorry I - I just invited myself over and -” She moved passed him to reach for her coat. “I’ll go and - ”

“No,” he said quickly, putting his hand on her arm. She hadn't moved after a few seconds, and he realized his hand had probably been touching her too long, so he pulled it away. “No, it’s - it’s fine. I'm sorry I just thought -”

“Don’t be sorry,” she interrupted, turning to face him. “I know you’re - alone - and with my father in the hospital, _I’m_ alone this year too, so I thought maybe -”

She shrugged, and he started to smile. The card had been intended as an invitation, and of course he’d assumed the worst, both of himself and her, even when she was the best person in the whole damn town. She’d been trying to reach out to him, probably the whole time he’d known her, with all her small gestures and kind smiles. He’d been too blinded by his own misery to realize it.

“I brought a pan of Granny’s lasagna and some cookies. Not very Christmas-y, I know, but -” Then she stopped and bit at her lip. “If you’d rather I go, I can -”

“No,” he replied softly, blinking back the sting in the corners of his eyes. “No, I’d like it very much if you stayed.” She beamed at him and he swore his heart had never felt so large and full. “Please take the food through there into the kitchen, I just - I need to, uh, clean up something before I join you.”

Belle lifted up on her toes, and for a startling moment he thought she might kiss him, but she dropped back on heels, bouncing with what could only be joy and excitement. “Great! I’ll start the oven.”

He watched her walk down his hallway, pushing open the swinging door to his kitchen with her hip, making her dress swish about her legs. As soon as she was out of sight, he hurried back into his study, and picked up the trash bin by his desk. He riffled through the papers and mail to retrieve her card, pleased to find it unwrinkled and with no indications of its hasty discarding. He opened it and read her words again, smiling widely.

Something tickled his cheek and then a spot appeared on the page. He reached up to find his face wet, and closed his eyes against the rest of the tears threatening to fall. There was no need for that now, even if she was here just for tonight, though he doubted this would be the only time she would visit him after this. Belle had shown herself to be quite persistent and stubborn in her efforts to get funding for the library. He got the impression that if she intended to be his friend, then she was damn well going to be, and sod his grumpy, antisocial tendencies.

Smiling and wiping at his eyes one last time, he set the card upright on his desk where it was now the lone holiday decoration in his house, and left to join Belle in the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has brought more than lasagna and cookies, and Gold is just so confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where this is going, but this was the first thing that popped into my head when I saw the prompt. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #5 - Star.

“Star or angel?”

Gold shook his head in disbelief as Belle held up a white star done in a stained glass style with gold trim in between each piece, and an angel figurine with a serene porcelain face and a shimmery white dress. Each had a short cord hanging down from them, indicating they would light up once plugged in.

“Um, what?”

“For the tree.” She grinned at him. “Star, or angel?”

He stared blankly for a long moment, wondering how his evening had changed so drastically.

After he retrieved the Christmas card from the trash bin in his study, he had found Belle in the kitchen. She was unwrapping foil from the lasagna, and he had just stood in the doorway, mesmerized as he watched her move around his kitchen. Her red dress swished and her wavy hair bounced with the same energy with which she moved. She was so light and bright, a ray of sunshine pushing into his shadows. She opened cabinets and drawers, and found what she needed with remarkable ease. It was like she already knew where to look, as if they did this all the time, friends who had dinner, talking and laughing over good food and a bottle of wine. 

He had to lean on the island to keep himself from falling over at the thought.

After the lasagna was in the oven, she excused herself to get something else from her car, which he hadn’t realized was parked outside. It was right in front of his house, where anyone could see it. People would know she was at his house, on Christmas Eve of all nights, and they would most certainly talk. 

Belle French’s little blue Prius in front of Mr. Gold’s pink Victorian, how scandalous!

He cringed at what they would say about her, but then she came back inside, dragging a sizable box and three plastic bags from the Walmart in Portland. She shook the snow off out of her hair, and beamed at him, her cheeks rosy from the cold, and he’d been lost ever since. He barely recalled when she asked where to put the Christmas tree, and if he liked the lights twinkling or steady. Now she appeared to be holding two tree toppers in her hands, giving him a choice in how his new five foot, Fraser fir style, pre-lit, artificial tree was adorned, while the scent of cooking lasagna and garlic bread filled the air.

“Hey,” she said softly.

Gold blinked hard and shook himself. “Yes? Sorry, I’m...” 

He waved a hand and blew out a breath. The truth was he didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know why she had sent him a card or showed up at his house. Her father had been in the nursing home for a few months and her mother had died some time ago. Spending a holiday alone in such circumstances would seem bleak to someone as good and kind as Belle. Why she would want to spend any of it with the likes of him, remained a mystery.

Her arms lowered to her sides, and her lips twisted with worry. “You don’t mind do you?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Me,” she sighed. “Being here?”

“No,” Gold answered quickly, holding up a hand as he stepped closer. “No, not at all. I’m just - surprised? Confused maybe?”

She laughed then, a gentle, almost musical sound. “Yeah, sorry. I’m...kind of _a lot_ sometimes.”

He started to smile, her impulsiveness far more endearing than infuriating at the moment. “No, Miss French, you’re - you’re lovely.”

Belle brightened at that. “It was just a spur of the moment thing, you know? I was sitting in my apartment wondering what I was going to do for the next couple of days. There’s not much point in making a Christmas dinner for myself, so I went to Granny’s to get a lasagna, and I thought - why not, right?”

She shrugged, and he shook his head, curious what thought had really lead her to his doorstep, but so pleased that she was here. He needed to wrap his head around that fact so he could stop making her feel as if she were annoying him.

“I’m glad,” he said, dipping his head until he could catch her gaze. “Thank you.”

She gave him a wobbly smile, and for a moment he thought she might be upset. Whatever emotion had been there, she shook off, and held up the tree toppers again.

“Star? Or angel?”

Gold tapped his chin in consideration, giving each piece his standard shrewd pawnbroker stare. Maybe, after this, they _would_ be friends who had dinner and laughed over good food and a bottle of wine. Maybe, after this, his life would have a little more light in it.

Then he grinned and reached out to tap her right hand. “Star.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prior to the events of chapters 1 and 2, Mr. Gold ruminates on the Christmas gifts he's sold at the pawn shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More angst. :( I'm sorry. Set two days before Christmas Eve and the first chapter of this story. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #9 - Shopping.

Two days until Christmas and Gold couldn’t wait for it all to be over.

The emerald ring sparkled in the bright light over his workbench, and he checked the sizing again to be sure before he put it away. He snapped the lid shut on the black velvet box before nestling it in a pile of green tissue paper inside a small, shiny red bag. The strings of the bag were tied with a white ribbon, the ends curled into corkscrews with a quick slide of his scissors. He found himself smiling as he stepped through the curtain into the front of the shop where David Nolan was waiting with a rather pensive look.

“That’s it?” David asked, his fingers tapping on the counter beside the cash register.

Gold inclined his head slightly as he set the bag down between them. “Yes, as promised.”

David blew out a breath and stared at the bag. “This is really happening.”

Gold wasn’t sure if he was being spoken to, and his lips twitched in amusement. “It is if you have the last payment.” Then he flipped open the small notebook he kept by the register and examined the page. “I believe there was two hundred left?”

David’s head shot up and he frowned. “Two? It was four.” He pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, twenties and fifties held together with a large binder clip he’d probably borrowed from his soon to be fiance Mary Margaret.

Gold shrugged. “My notes say _two_.”

David leaned back a bit, eyeing Gold. “What are you up to, Gold?”

He huffed, ignoring the fact that he'd lowered the remaining price by two hundred dollars. “Mr. Nolan, it’s nearly Christmas, and I believe you wished to be engaged by then. I suggest you don’t argue with the man helping to make that happen.”

David undid the clip and peeled off two hundred dollars, laying each bill on the counter slowly so it could be counted. He glanced up when he was done, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Two hundred.”

Gold snatched up the cash, and popped open the register drawer. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said absently as he laid the money out in the appropriate slots.

David smile. “Thanks, Gold.” His voice was warm and Gold could tell there was a smile in it without looking. “Merry Christmas.”

Then he picked up the small bag, turned, and left the shop.

Gold sighed and leaned on the counter. It was just after four and he was strongly considering closing up early and going home to a glass of scotch and leftover tuna salad. Only the former seemed appealing at the moment.

_Bloody Christmas._

He shook his head and retreated to the back room once more, having decided he’d at least finish up his ledger for the day before he left. Sitting at his work table he scanned the columns, which, lately, consisted of rent and holiday gifts. Despite his reputation and general misanthropic ways, he paid a lot of attention to other people. There were always ways to exploit others or bend them to his needs, and as a by product it made him quite good at steering customers towards the item their intended giftee would want.

There had been Leroy, who was seeking something for Astrid, the girl he was sweet on but hadn’t yet asked out on a date. She left the convent over a year ago, and had only recently found employment and a place to live after a short period of being ostracized by half the town. Gold had nudged him away from anything religious as a start, and towards something tasteful for her new apartment, an antique vase with delicate, hand painted cherry blossoms. She’d gazed at it more than once when she’d come to him during her apartment search, and his mouth curved as he imagined her rather ear piercing squeal of delight when she saw it. 

Hopefully, it would survive her clumsiness.

Ruby Lucas had needed something for her grandmother and her girlfriend. Necklaces with little charms that had meaning for both her and them fit the bill and budget perfectly. Dr. Whale needed to keep his latest bed mate happy, and Gold was all too keen to encourage the idiot to buy the most ridiculous and expensive yellow diamond earrings. It was inevitable that Whale would philander his way into breaking her heart, and Gold hoped to see her come in his shop in the spring, selling the earrings back to the very shop in which they’d been purchased.

David Nolan wanted to propose to Mary Margaret Blanchard, and had decided that Christmas Eve was the right time. After all, their first kiss had been on Christmas Eve at Granny’s annual party, or so Gold had heard. At first David had been drawn to a princess cut diamond ring, bordered by smaller round diamonds, with tiny stones set all along the band. His intentions were noble, believing that she deserved the best, but not only was such an ostentatious ring more than he could afford, it wasn’t what Mary Margaret would have wanted. After several days of coming in and staring at rings and leaving empty handed, David finally decided he wanted something less traditional. Gold was able to direct him to an emerald solitaire set in a unique platinum band. Mary Margaret had looked at it several times over the years when she’d been in the shop, and once David saw it, he knew it was the one. He said It reminded him of a ring his mother had when he was little. Now it was in a little gift bag and on its way to Mary Margaret’s left hand.

Gold closed the ledger, and leaned back in his chair. He helped so many others find the perfect gift for their loved ones, and yet it had been ages since he’d been on the receiving end of a present. The last one had been - 

He let out a short huff and tossed his pen down on the table. Mulling over the gifts others had bought for their loved ones made him wish he had gone home to his excellent scotch and mediocre sandwich. Sighing, he pushed back from the desk and lifted his coat from the rack by the back door. He switched off the lights as he made his way to the front of the shop, and then stepped out into the cold, dry December air.

Shivering, he turned his collar up and fluffed the knit scarf around his neck to block the chill from slipping in the gaps. Less than a block down the street, Belle French was exiting the Dark Star drug store, and he paused beside his black Cadillac, watching her. She waved to Mr. Clark on her way out, and smiled at Leroy as she held the door open for him. Over one arm was the handbag she’d been carrying the last few months, notable for its bold, cobalt colored leather, which matched the shoes she was wearing today.

She always had a kind word for him, and a smile, and for a brief instant he wanted to cross the street and say hello to her, though he’d never done it before. Sure they had talked from time to time, but only in passing. He’d never sought her out in any kind of friendly way, but then he noticed what else she was holding. 

In her free hand were two bags, one of which looked like a bright green gift bag, and he felt a small pang in his chest. She had probably purchased a gifts for her friends and family, and Christmas cards to boot. She struck him as the type who would spend an inordinate amount of time wrapping them, making sure the corners were perfect, and decorating them with elaborate bows and ribbons that coordinated expertly with the pattern of the paper. He could see it all in his mind’s eye, and smiled in spite of the ache in his ribs. 

Belle had been in his shop just twice since moving to town, but if anyone ever wanted to buy her a gift, he knew exactly what to pick. At that moment, she turned in his direction and raised her hand in a wave. Abruptly, he turned away at the same time, and yanked open the car door.

She had just stepped off the curb when the car’s engine rumbled to life, and he ignored her as he pulled out into the street. He drove passed the houses with their rows of lights, flashing and blinking in all manner of colors, and pulled into the driveway of his three story pink Victorian. It was absent of any decoration or indication that any sort of special day was approaching. It was a dark void in the riot of Christmas that lined Morning Glory Lane and every other street in Storybrooke.

He sneered as he got out of the car, glaring at the blinking rows of light up candy canes on the house across the road. The hell with the whole town, he thought. Maybe he wouldn’t open the shop at all tomorrow. It wasn’t as if anyone would care. Though there was always the chance of someone needing a last minute gift, and he did appreciate a desperate soul.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, Gold and Belle discuss Christmas music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a hot mess, sorry. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #10 - Warmth. Of course I made a banner. Of course.  
> 

Gold set the dirty dinner plates in the sink to be dealt with in the morning, and made his way back to the living room.

Dinner had been surprisingly good. Lasagna might not have been the most traditional of holiday foods, but it hit the spot far better than his anticipated supper of scotch, a side of scotch, and some leftover roast chicken. They’d taken the time to doctor up the extra marinara sauce with some roasted garlic and red wine as it reheated on the stove. The fresh slices of bread Granny always gave out as a side, was delicious when it was dripping with butter and some of the same garlic, smashed into all the little nooks and crannies. He’d worried that they might have used too much, to the point where one might wonder if they were trying to keep away vampires, but the way Belle’s face lit up when she bit into it and the borderline lewd sound she’d made assuaged his concerns.

The conversation was light and easy, touching on all the safe subjects like work and rumors around town. He might not mind that she had invited herself over, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to broach any deeper topics. Doing so would probably only scare her off. He already knew he was a difficult man to love, he didn’t need Belle French fleeing his house to tell him that.

He stopped in the doorway of the living room and stared at the scene before him. There was a Christmas tree twinkling away in front of the wide bay window, visible from the street, and no doubt confusing any passersby as he seemingly broke with tradition and dared to show some holiday spirit. Atop the tree was the star he’d selected, shining brightly, and across the mantle of the fireplace were lit candles and a swag of faux pine boughs.

Belle sat on the sofa, idly flipping through channels, bypassing one Christmas movie after another in between sips of wine. Her hair glowed in the firelight with streaks of gold and auburn, and she'd kicked off her high heels, curling her legs beneath her.

His breath caught. It should have been strange, the decorations, the fire, the hum of music and conversation from the television, and most of all _her_. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since his house had felt this comfortable and welcoming, filled with a warmth and cheer that he hadn’t felt in years. 

The fire popped sharply, shaking him from his contemplation, and causing Belle to twist in her seat.

“Hey,” she said, smiling softly. “White Christmas is on.”

Gold pushed off the door frame and ambled into the room, his lips curved crookedly. “A classic.”

She shrugged as he came around the end of the sofa to sit at the opposite end. “Better than a seventh round of A Christmas Story, or getting ‘you’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch’ stuck in your head.”

He chuckled. “My theme song.”

She shook her head, smiling at him over her glass before she took another drink of her wine. “I always thought you’d be more of a Jingle Bell Rock, guy.”

His own glass lowered quickly as he sputtered. “ _What?_ ”

She giggled and leaned back against the arm of the sofa. “Elvis’s Blue Christmas?”

Gold rolled his eyes. “And you have Mariah what’s-her-name’s Christmas song on repeat in your car?”

“Carey,” she supplied, smirking. “And god no, once a season on that song is plenty for me. I’ve always been more into classical stuff. I used to dance ballet, though, so if I hear anything from the Nutcracker I am not responsible for my actions.”

He grinned and licked his lips. “Would those actions involve a pirouette?” She frowned. “How about a jeté?”

That earned him a glare and a gentle nudge of her foot against his thigh. He noticed that her toes had on a sparkly red polish in the same shade as her dress, about two seconds before he realized that she’d just reached out and touched him. It wasn’t intimate exactly, but friendly, the sort of thing people who were comfortably with each other physically might do. A heat crept up his neck and he looked away, focusing on Bing Crosby as he danced his way across the stage. 

“I find most holiday music tedious,” he said after a long moment.

“Probably because they start playing it five minutes into Black Friday,” Belle said, gesturing with her glass. “I swear Mr. Clark has two _freaking_ Christmas CDs, and he just swaps them back and forth all month long to see if anyone loses their damn mind.”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “Why I had no idea you had such strong opinions about holiday music, Miss French.”

“Belle.” She waited until he looked at her, his eyebrow arched in question before she spoke again. “I’ve invaded your house with lasagna, cookies, and a Christmas tree. I think we’ve reached first name basis, _Rumford_.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded, meeting her eyes, bright with amusement, and raised his glass to her. “Belle.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Belle get a visit from some carolers and are left with an unusual gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially planned out how the rest of this is going to go and set it at a conservative 10 chapters. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #16 - fruitcake. Also this is crap. Sorry.

The front door closed, cutting off the sounds of the carolers as they carried on singing O, Holy Night and crossed the street.

At first Gold didn’t want to open the door at all, and even started to pull the curtains closed, which was his usual reaction to uninvited guests. That, or opening the door and glaring menacingly. But Belle stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm, and suggested they at least listen to one song. Under the soft gaze of her blue eyes, he relented, and then spent the next ten minutes faking a smile as the small group of carolers belted out a series of Christmas hymns. When it was over, he reached for his wallet, pulled out a few bills, and handed them to Astrid as a donation for the children’s center at the church.

It seemed like the thing to do in the moment, but the poor nun had been so surprised she almost fell off the porch step she was standing on. Fortunately, Leroy was there to catch her and prevent any kind of incident.

Now, they were gone, and Belle was looking at him strangely.

He swallowed and glanced at her. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” she licked her lips and then drug her teeth over her bottom lip. 

It was something she’d done several times this evening, usually after saying only half of what he suspect she wanted to say. It made him question what she was really doing here. Why _his_ house and _his_ company on this night? Was there no better option?

He fidgeted with his cane and turned to look at her. “Should I not have -?”

“No,” Belle said quickly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “No, it’s just...nothing about this night is -” Her lips pressed together, another thing he noticed happened a lot.

He sighed frowned and looked down at the package in his hand. Sister Astrid had hastily shoved it at him after he gave her the money. It was a loaf of fruitcake covered in plastic wrap, and he had no idea what to do with it.

“I know,” he said, finally. “I’m sure none of this is what you wanted for your Christmas, but -”

“No no no!” Belle moved around to stand in front of him, putting herself between him and the door. He suspected she wanted to be on the other side of it right now. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m sorry, it’s just that so much of this was unexpected.” She smiled. “But not in a bad way.”

“Oh, well that’s, um...good?” He looked at her, somehow smiling and frowning at the same time.

Her head titled to the side and she laid her hand over his, giving it a soft squeeze. “It’s very good, okay?”

Her eyes were bright, shining with something, and he shook himself as she pulled her hand away. 

“I didn’t know anyone still gave out fruitcake at holidays, ” he said, after a long moment.

Belle looked at him with amusement and relief at his change of subject. “In theory, fruit that’s been soaked in rum, cooked with sugar, made into a cake, and then basted with brandy every day for two weeks, should be freaking amazing.”

“And yet,” Gold said, “I’ve known several people who used them as doorstops.”

He looked pointedly at the fruitcake and then the door, before giving her a sideways glance and a slight smirk.

Her grin widened. “If Sister Katherine made it, it’ll be pretty good.”

“I have never heard the words fruitcake and good in the same sentence.” He made a face that caused her to laugh, and lifted it to his nose. He sniffed at it, but there was not much to detect through the layers of cling wrap, save for a hint of spice. His fingers pressed at it a little, and it gave easily, letting out a telltale scent. 

His eyebrows lift and he leaned sideways towards Belle. “Seems Sister Katherine does not go light on the brandy with this recipe.”

She laughed again. “From what I’ve heard from Astrid? _Definitely_ not.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “Want to try it?”

His brow knit as he eyed the cake with momentary suspicion, then he started to smile. “Might as well. And, just in case, let’s not go light on the brandy either.”

The sparkle in her eye and curve of her mouth as she looked up at him made his stomach flip, and he felt the faint hope that maybe the reason she was here was him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sampling the fruit cake, Gold and Belle share drinks and some history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will admit this chapter did not end up how I imagined it when I started. I think that's okay. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #18 - Happiness.

“So...what’s the verdict?”

Gold set the plate down on the cushion between them, and glanced sideways at Belle. She was watching him over the rim of her brandy glass, with a soft smile.

“Hmm, better than expected,” he said, licking a crumb from his upper lip. “But I’d still prefer to eat the fruit, the cake, and the brandy separate.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Me too, but it’s one of those holiday things I think everyone has to try once or twice. Like eggnog.”

She wrinkled her nose and Gold smiled. “Don’t care for it?”

Belle shook her head again. “Can’t stand it.”

“I’ve never been much of a fan either,” he admitted. He didn't care for the thick richness or the way it smelled oddly like a graham cracker “I always preferred a good Irish coffee or hot chocolate.”

She poked his leg with her foot. “With a shot of peppermint liqueur?”

It was the second time she’d done that with her toes, touching him in a friendly, casual way. With scotch and wine and brandy in his veins he thought maybe if she did it again he’d be brave enough to do something back. “Or butterscotch?” he offered.

She made a lovely, low noise at that, and they grinned at each other over their respective drinks.

Gold felt loose and warm, comfortable for the first time in ages, even in his own home. The fire cracked pleasantly and he looked from the hearth to the tree Belle had erected in his living room. He thought that this was probably what happiness felt like, though it had been some time since he’d really felt such a thing. The visit from the carolers meant that now other people knew she was here, with him, and she didn’t seem the least bit bothered by that fact. She wanted to be here, with him, and despite how wonderful that was, he continued to wonder why. 

Why him, why Belle, why this night? What was she doing here?

“Oh…”

Her quiet gasp startled him. When he looked at her, her eyes were wide and her lips were pressed together. She was fiddling with her brandy glass, twisting it by the short stem in her fingers and making the liquid swirl up the sides. He realized he must have asked his question out loud.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want you here, it’s just -” He stopped and shook his head. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to be.”

Belle shrugged and swallowed the last of her brandy. “It’s exactly what I told you. My father’s in the care home now, and I - I didn’t want to be alone, not - not on Christmas Eve.”

“And I was the only person you could think of to spend it with?”

He gave her a crooked, depreciating smile, and she looked down at her glass for a moment, her hair flopping forward to hide her face. When she looked up her eyes were overbright and her smile wobbled before she turned away.

“Hey,” he said, gently, resting a hand on her knee. “I’m just trying to understand.”

She wiped at her eyes, and he kicked himself for ruining the pleasant evening with his need for answers. He wished he could just accept that she was here for what it was, but he knew that the second she left he would only long for her to come back. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to return to his life of solitude and eccentricity, keeping an entire town at arms length.

“Belle.”

The soft sound of her name made her turn back to him, and though her eyes were tinged with a bit of red, her smile felt warm and genuine. She laid her hand over his and gave it a squeeze.

“I’ve, um, never been alone,” she said. “Not - not like this. Not where there was no one else.”

Gold shifted to set his glass on the coffee table before he took her hand in both of his. “No one else?”

She sighed and leaned against the back of the couch, seemingly content to let him hold her hand. “Even after my mom died, there was still my dad, but now… It’s just me. I could have gone to Granny’s and hung out with her and Ruby, and Ruby’s girlfriend, and the cousins that always come to town for the holidays. But at the end of the day it’s still just...me.”

He swallowed hard. He’d known that it was just Belle and her father when they moved to Storybrooke, but he hadn’t considered what that implied. “I’m sorry, about your mother.”

She shrugged again as she picked at the hem of her red dress with her free hand. “I was fifteen, it was a long time ago.” Then she looked up and met his eyes. “What about you?”

It was Gold’s turn to shrug and find another thing to look at that wasn’t her face. “Much the same,” he said. “My parents have been dead for many years, and there’s - there’s no one else.”

“No one?” She titled to the side, dipping her head until she caught his gaze again. 

Her look seeming almost knowing, and he suddenly wanted to tell her everything, the whole sad, sordid story of his existence. He wasn’t sure there was another person in the whole of the planet who knew so much about him, and if there was to be someone who did, he wanted it to be her.

He exhaled slowly before he spoke. “My son.”

Belle startled a bit, and he let her pull her hand away. “You’re what?”

Gold smiled at her surprise. “Neal. He, uh, he lives in New York.”

She shifted in her seat, inching closer. “Will you visit him after the holiday?”

He shook his head and frowned. He'd love to, but he couldn't imagine showing up on Neal's doorstep ending in anything other than regretful words. “Not likely, no. We don’t speak that often.”

“Why?” 

The question was out before she could stop it, and she clapped a hand over her mouth immediately after. Gold met her eyes, and her face scrunched adorably. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “The answer is simple. I’m, uh, a difficult man to love.”

A light snort escaped her, and he frowned. Not knowing what to say, he finished his glass of brandy, and poured more for each of them before he sat back down, a little closer than before, close enough that her bent knee was almost touching his.

He sipped at the brandy and sighed as the warmth slid down his throat. “We had a falling out a few years ago. I was...an idiot. And now…”

He took another drink, looking into the fire as he felt her eyes on him. He knew what she must be thinking, that he was a bastard for whatever he did that would make his own son stop speaking to him. It was the same thing he thought of himself.

“So call him.” He gave her a confused look, and she just smiled and waved her hand. “Why not? It’s Christmas. If there’s ever a time to reach out to someone you care about...isn’t this it?”

Gold was thoughtful for a long moment his eyes drifting from Belle’s face back to the fire. She was right, of course. He should call Neal, but it was getting late and he didn’t want to disturb his son’s evening, which he hoped was at least as good as the one he was having with Belle.

“I didn’t have the energy to put up my Christmas tree this year,” she said, taking up the conversation again as her hand found his again across the leather sofa. “I was sitting in my apartment, everything was bare and depressing, the fridge had leftover Chinese food in it, and I thought this _can’t_ be how I spend my Christmas.”

He squeezed her hand, and gave her a sideways smile. “And then you thought, ah yes, I should go find the most miserable bastard in town?”

She giggled, and he grinned, pleased that he could make her smile despite the mildly depressing track their conversation had taken.

“That was it _exactly_ ,” she said, lifting their joined hands and then dropping them back to the sofa for emphasis. “I thought, I wonder who could possibly be more pathetic than me.”

The slight curve of her lips and the gleam in her eye let him know she was joking, and he shook his head. “Well, you certainly came to the right place.”

Belle let her head fall back on the couch as she laughed, and he reached for his brandy.

“You’re wrong you know,” she said as her merriment died down and her face turned more serious. “About being _difficult_ , I mean. You’re - you’re not.”

Gold stopped with the snifter at his lips, frozen as the meaning of her words hit him. He took a quick sip, the heat of the drink the only thing that kept him from well up with tears.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Then took another, larger sip of the brandy and set it aside.

“Admit it,” Belle said, nudging him for a third time with her delicately painted toes. “You’re happy I’m here.”

He turned to look at her, catching the small smirk that played over her mouth. She was right again. He was happy, could be almost deliriously so, he suspected. If he’d let himself.

Sighing, he leaned back, aware that they were still holding hands, and smiled. “I’m not unhappy.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve comes to a close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm finally most over being sick. This has to be one of the worst Christmases on record. Ugh. Still behind a couple days on prompts, but I'm catching up. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #24 - Wish.

The brandy had gone to his head.

Belle French was sitting on his sofa, watching some ridiculous Christmas movie, giggling at some absurd thing a character had said, with her head leaned on his shoulder. Gold looked down at the top of her head, her dark curls catching the firelight and shining with streaks of gold, and barely held back the urge to kiss her. It would be so easy to press his lips there, to the spot where her hair parted, where she would be sure to feel the faint pressure.

Thinking about kissing Belle in any capacity was not necessarily a new thought for him to have, but the alcohol must have been affecting him because he felt his body lean towards her. He could smell the faint hint of roses and his eyelids slipped closed as he inhaled the soft scent. His nose brushed against her, catching a few strands of hair.

His eyes blinked open and he turned back to the TV, sighing. “It’s getting late.”

She shifted and sat up, seemingly just realizing that she’d been resting on him, and looked around. “Oh, I, uh, I guess it is.”

He hated that he’d disturbed her and the bubble of happiness that he’d let himself drift in for the past few hours. It was inevitable though, the evening must come to an end.

Pushing up off the sofa, Gold moved to the window and lifted the curtain. Behind him, Belle gasped softly.

“It’s snowing…”

He stared out at the softly falling flakes, so dainty and pretty in the light from the street lamps and the glow of the Christmas lights. “So it is.”

“I really should get going I guess.” Her voice seemed sad, and it made his whole body ache with how much he wished for her to stay. “I hope the roads aren’t too bad.”

He frowned out at the snow which now blanketed her car. She didn’t have far to drive, and there was barely an inch on the street, but the thought of her out in it, going back to being alone on Christmas, sat like lead in his belly.

“You could stay,” he heard himself say before he could stop it.

Belle made another light noise. “I...um, are you sure?”

He turned from the window to face her, and the hope that flickered in her eyes gave him courage. “Of course. I have four guest rooms, and you are welcome to any of them.”

She beamed at him. “That’s lovely of you, thank you.”

He smiled back. “No matter.”

A short while later, she was settled in the room across the hall from his, with a set of his pajamas to wear, and her phone charging on the bedside table. It was a struggle to pull himself from the room and her company, but once he said goodnight, it felt like he would overstaying his welcome. At least he was going to bed without a pain in his head from too much scotch and with the knowledge that in the morning, Christmas morning, Belle would still be there.

He smiled to himself as he changed out of his clothes. Maybe he’d get up before her and make breakfast, Christmas morning pancakes, with chocolate chips, like he used to do for Neal. He stopped with his fingers on the bottom button of his shirt and sighed. Perhaps in the light of day the prospect of calling his son wouldn’t seem so daunting.

The sheets were cool through the soft cotton of his pajamas and he sighed as he laid back. It actually felt odd to be away from Belle, and he chided himself for getting used to her presence so easily. There was no promise of anything beyond tonight, not even tomorrow. She could decide to leave first thing in the morning and life would go back to the way it was. He would just have to deal with that.

A gentle knock had Gold sitting up in bed.

“Yes?”

Belle hesitantly peeked her head around the door. “Hey.”

He frowned and started to get out of bed. “Is something wrong? Do you -”

“No,” she said, stepping into the room. “No, it’s just -” She bit her lip as her fingers played with the last button on the pajama shirt she wore. “I, uh, I didn’t want to be alone.”

His heart beat faster, pounding against his chest as she spoke.

“I was wondering if -” She stopped and shook her head. “Never mind, I’m sorry. Good -”

“You can stay,” he blurted. “If - if you want.”

Her mouth opened and closed, and for a long moment he thought he’d gotten it completely wrong and made an idiot of himself. But then she moved all the way into the room and closed the door behind her.

“You don’t mind?”

Gold shook his head slowly. “Not - not if you don’t.”

Her smile was wobbly and he wondered again what had really brought her to his door on Christmas Eve. Surely there must be more to it than loneliness.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she came around to the other side of the bed.

They both slipped beneath the covers and after a few seconds of straightening the sheets and adjusting the pillows, they laid back almost in unison. Gold felt like he couldn’t breathe. Belle French was in his bed. He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to relax, but it was impossible.

“Why me?” he asked quietly.

She sighed and turned onto her side, facing him. “I told you before.”

“I know, but - you could have gone anywhere, to anyone else.” He didn’t know what he was saying and he worried that his questions would drive her back to the other room and then out of his house and life for good. “I just - I just want to understand.”

“I didn’t come here because I was looking for someone more alone and pathetic than me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

He turned his head to look at her, and saw her smile through the darkness.

“I just - I didn’t want to be a third wheel, or - or a charity case,” she explained. “I didn’t want to go somewhere where people would just feel sorry for me and let me tag along. I wanted - I don’t know.”

“You wanted to spend your evening bringing Christmas to the least festive house on the block?” He smiled, knowing that wasn’t the truth either.

She giggled softly, and reached her hand across the bed until she was touching his arm. “I wanted what we all want, I think. To be somewhere I was wanted.”

He swallowed hard. “And you thought - that was here?”

He felt her move closer, and her hand slid down his arm to wrap around his fingers.

“I hoped it was,” she answered.

He closed his eyes, feeling the sting of tears at the corners. His hand shifted to hold hers fully, giving it a light squeeze, as she came even closer. His throat felt tight, and he sucked in a breath through his nose, trying to fight back the sob that wanted to burst out of him.

There was a soft pressure against his shoulder, warm through his pajamas, and it took him a second to realize that Belle had kissed him. He breathed out and felt his body relax, sagging into the mattress as she rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand.

“Thank you, Rumford,” she whispered. “For wanting me here.”

Gold nodded, unable to give voice to the words he wanted to say. Of course he wanted her here. Deep down he’d always wanted her here, but he’d never felt deserving enough. It never occurred to him that she might feel the same way. Understanding that was a relief. 

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” he managed, feeling his throat choke on every word.

“Merry Christmas,” came her sleepy reply.

He smiled up into the darkness with Belle’s hand in his, and for the first time in years happiness wasn’t just a wish.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas morning and Gold has a surprise for Belle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I am the latest of the late with this. I feel behind on everything, but at least the whole family is well again. There might be one more chapter to this, but I'm not sure, so I'm calling it good here, a little earlier than I intended. Hope you don't mind. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #25 - Ribbon.

In the early morning, Gold awoke to a strange feeling.

It was the feeling of not being alone, of having the warm companionship of another person just a few inches away, tucked under the same blanket. He smiled and turned his head to see Belle sleeping peacefully, her hand still touching his. After several minutes of laying there, enjoying the calm of his first Christmas morning - the first one he’d acknowledged as such - in years, he sighed and sat up. Though he was loathe to leave the cozy, warm cocoon that his bed had become in the magic of Belle’s presence, an idea had formed that he needed to act on. Grinning to himself, he selected a suit, shirt, and tie for the day, and slipped into the bathroom to change, hoping he could get to his shop and make it back to the house before she woke up.

An hour later, Gold was cracking eggs against the edge of a glass mixing bowl when he heard a soft shuffle behind him. 

He looked over his shoulder, smiling crookedly. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Belle rubbed at her eyes, the sleeve of the pajama shirt she wore half covering her hand.

He never noticed how short she really was without her sky high heels. She looked so small and precious in the oversized clothes, with the morning light streaming in through the kitchen windows. 

He swallowed and turned back to the bowl, cracking a second egg over the side. “Sleep well?”

“I did,” she replied. “You?”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Yes. Yes, it - it was -” _Wonderful. Amazing. Something I long to do every night for the rest of my life?_ “Fine.”

Her hand touched him and he stopped with the whisk in his hand. “I’m sorry about last night,” she said. 

Her voice was small and quiet, and he set the bowl down and turned. “Whatever for?”

Belle shrugged. “For invading your space and pushing my way into your bed.” She pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed. “ _God_ that sounds awful when I say it like that.”

“Hey, it wasn’t -”

“No,” she insisted. “It was. I - I probably had too much to drink, and it was Christmas Eve, and I just -” She stopped and sighed again. 

He could see her shoulders sag with the weight of something, and frowned. “What is it?” She shook her head and he stepped closer, his lips twisting at a smile. “Belle.”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes as she bit her lip. “I was okay until Papa fell ill. It didn’t bother me, but now -”

Gold’s head dipped as she looked down, trying to catch her gaze. “But now - what?”

She sighed again. “My mom, she, um - on Christmas Eve.”

The way she choked on the last word made his heart break. His arms came up, reaching around her at the same time she fell against him. He could have never imagined that the sweet, bubbly librarian carried so much pain and loss, perhaps as much as his own.

“Oh, Belle. Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

He held her gently, his arms around her shoulders as she leaned her forehead against his chest. She didn’t so much cry as breathe steadily until she’d calmed, leaving the front of his shirt feeling warm and damp. He didn’t mind though. The chance to hold her close was wonderful, even through her sadness, and he savored it, foolishly longing for more.

When Belle pulled back, he let his arms fall, immediately missing the feeling of her pressed against him. She fit in his arms so well, her sleight stature a good match for his own. It would be easy to hug her or kiss her, and he kicked himself mentally for letting his thoughts wander to such things. He’d occasionally entertained the notion in private, usually after she went out of her way to talk with him, crossing the street in the morning simply to say hello, or when she smiled knowingly at him over a cup of coffee at Granny’s while Leroy went on about some rumor or bit of gossip he’d heard. 

He was aware he’d been nursing a crush on her for years, but having her in his house had sent his heart fluttering and his mind wandering. As she wiped her eyes with the cuffs of the pajama shirt she wore - his pajama shirt - he could already feel the blackness that would overtake him as soon as she left, taking all her brightness and beauty.

People like him didn’t deserve people like Belle in their lives.

“Sorry,” she said again, giving him a smile he could see was forced.

“It’s no matter, truly.” He wanted to reach for her again and hold her until her smile reached her eyes and she elbowed him to make him stop.

One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug, and she turned to lean against the counter. “I warned you I was kind of a lot to deal with.”

Gold moved to stand in front of her again, smirking lightly. “You’re wrong.” She looked up at him, her eyes shiny and questioning, and he very nearly bent and kissed her. “You’re - you’re not. You’re a delight to _deal with_.”

Belle grinned at that and ducked her head, and he stepped back, taking up the mixing bowl and whisk again.

“Pancakes?” he asked, and she brightened. “With...chocolate chips?”

Her eyes went wide. “My mother... she - she used to make those on Christmas morning too.”

Gold's face dropped. “Oh, I - I can make something else if -”

“No. No, that's perfect,” she said, taking his arm in hers and giving it a small squeeze. “Thank you.”

Not quite knowing what to say with her looking up at him that way, and pressing his arm to her body, he awkwardly offered her coffee. That seemed to settle the situation and breakfast continued pleasantly.

“Have you called your son yet?” she asked as they moved back into the living room some time later.

Gold shook his head and sighed. “Not yet. I know I should but -”

“But what if he hangs up on you? What if he tells you off? What if he just doesn't answer at all?”

He frowned. “Yes, thank you for that succinct list of my fears.”

She was still wearing the pajamas he'd loaned her as she curled into the same corner of the couch as last night, her hands warming themselves on a second cup of coffee. He felt oddly overdressed and out of place in his own home, and glanced towards the Christmas tree, wondering if his earlier plans were too presumptuous.

Her smile was knowing. “You think you're the only person to have to make an awkward phone call to someone they love who may or may not want to talk to them?”

He was curious about that, but let it go. “I'll call him later.” 

When she gave him another look, he added a promise, and hoped that would be the end of it.

“What’s that?” Belle asked, sitting forward and staring at the bottom of the Christmas tree.

A small wrapped box sat beneath it and Gold could feel his palms start to sweat. He chided himself again for being such a hopeful idiot, but waking up in the early morning beside her had made him do something mad.

“Oh, um - that’s just…” 

He started to bend forward, but she slipped off the couch and onto her knees in front of the tree. The way she reached for the present was almost childlike, her eyes widening and her mouth opening in a smile. She picked up the box and turned to look at him, her lips pressing together as her eyebrows lifted.

Gold blew out a breath and gave her a half smile. “That’s, uh, for you.”

She sat back, staring down at the package in her hands, her thumbs running over the edges. It was a square box about two inches high, wrapped in a deep blue paper and tied with gold ribbon. He had a stash that he kept on hand in the shop in case someone needed something gift wrapped last minute. The blue made him think of her eyes and the gold, well, that had been silliness on his part.

“Why?” she asked softly. “You didn’t have to.”

Her overbright eyes looked up at him and he shook his head. “I wanted to.”

She moved back to sit on the sofa, setting the present in her lap, her eyes fixed on it. “When?”

“This morning,” he said, fighting the urge to move closer. “While you were asleep.”

“You didn’t have to,” she repeated. 

Gold sighed and laid his hand over hers. “Belle.” He waited for her to look at him and then smiled. “Open it.”

Belle started to grin as she plucked at the ribbon, taking it off whole and laying it over the back of her neck like a scarf. Then her nails tore into the paper, peeling it down the sides before balling it up and setting it between them. Underneath it was a white box and she stopped, eyeing it for a moment.

She plucked off the top and gasped. “Oh, Rumford…”

He watched as she carefully lifted out the heavy paper card with the earrings punched through it, holding it up until they dangled and rattled against each other.

Her hand came up to touch the single teardrop pearl that hung on a find gold chain around her neck. “They - they match my…”

“Your necklace,” he finished, swallowing hard. “Yes.”

She frowned and looked at him. “But how?”

Gold gave her a half smile and shrugged. “You looked at them the first time you were in my shop. I remember I offered to pull them out for you, and you seemed almost startled, like you’d forgotten someone else was there when you saw them. But I noticed they matched your necklace perfectly.” 

Her eyes started to water and he felt his throat tighten. “I don’t see many teardrop pearls like that. It’s an older style. But later, I think we were in Grannys? And you were, uh, you were fiddling with it while you waited.”

She looked down at her fingers doing just that and smiled. “I noticed you noticing my fiddling.”

“You did,” he said, laughing softly. “And you told me it was your mother’s.”

“You remembered that?” she asked, letting go of the necklace and turning on the sofa to face him. “That was...years ago.”

Gold nodded and looked down at the brocade fabric of the cushion. “I remember most things about - about you.”

He felt her move, saw her pajama clad leg come down on the couch very near his hand, and swallowed hard before he looked up. “Belle, I -”

Instantly her lips were on his, pressed softly but insistently. There was no mistaking that she meant to kiss him, and his stomach flipped even as the rest of him seemed frozen in place. When she pulled back, her eyes met his, and he knew every part of him was hers.

“I’m sor -” she started to say, but Gold reached up and caught the ends of the ribbon draped around her neck and pulled her to him, kissing her soundly.

This time when they broke apart, they were both grinning widely.

“I was going to say I’m sorry I didn’t get _you_ anything,” she said, her hand trailing down the length of his tie.

Gold shook his head and smirked, as he pulled the ribbon off of her slowly. “I think I got exactly what I wanted.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a lying liar who lies, but I got this idea and I had to write it for them. It's been a minute around here. For the 31 Days of Fandomas prompt #30 - Sleigh.

Belle’s laughter floated up into the sky, musical and light as it mingled with the flurry of snow that drifted around them.

The horse drawn sleigh drew up and over the small hill, bending around a path that ran along an old stone wall. Soon they’d be back at the old manor house that served as a bed and breakfast, after a sleigh ride tour of the grounds, in time for dinner. If Gold had even attempted to imagine where his life would be just a couple of weeks ago, the best he could have come up with was not feeling hungover after numbing himself with too much scotch, and not having to chase down too many late rent payments.

But then Belle had shown up on his porch with her blue eyes and Christmas cheer. She brought the joy of the season into his home and the warmth of her smile into his heart. He’d been hesitant and confused at first, believing she could do so much better. To his surprise she was a kindred soul, just as lonely and sad as he was, adrift in a world where everyone seemed to have someone except them. Only now they had each other.

The sleigh jostled them a bit as it came around the bend and followed the country road down to the house. He could almost smell the spiced cider they served all day long in the parlor, and the evergreen boughs that decorated the mantle over the large fireplace. It had been Belle’s idea to stay here instead of a hotel in the city, and to drive down instead of fly. He’d been sure he would hate the entire idea, but the truth was he’d never felt more relaxed and free.

Tomorrow, they would drive into the city and meet up with Neal. It was another thing he couldn’t have imagined, reconciling with his son just two weeks after he could barely manage to reach out to him. Belle had to dial the number because his hands kept shaking. He knew from experience that parenthood changed your perspective rather instantaneously, and smiled as he recalled the fateful Christmas Day phone call.

_“Hello?”_

_Neal’s voice was sleepy and Gold almost started crying. “Hello...son.”_

_“...Papa? Is that - you?”_

_“Yes,” he managed, giving Belle a grateful smile when she squeezed his hand. “I just, um, I wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas.”_

_On the other end of the line, Neal sniffled, and there was a soft rustling sound. “Hey, yeah, Merry Christmas. Um...”_

_“I know, I - I promised I would wait until you wanted to talk, but -” Gold sighed. “I’m sorry, son.”_

_“Hey, hey, don’t, okay?” Neal said, his voice wavering slightly. “Look last time - last time sucked, and that was probably as much my fault as yours.”_

_Gold blinked, unable to believe what he was hearing. “I - I don’t...I don’t know what to say.”_

_Neal sighed heavily and there was another series of quiet little sounds. “Yeah, well, let’s just say that I kinda get it now.”_

_“Get...what?” He asked, giving Belle a raised eyebrow. She sat back against the sofa and made a face that almost caused him to laugh. “Are you...are you okay?”_

_“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Neal replied. “Emma’s not though.”_

_“Emma?”_

_There was a muted thump and then the sound of he presumed was a dish on the table. “Yeah," Neal said, still sounding like he was half asleep despite it being almost noon. "She’s uh, she’s my girlfriend.”_

_“Oh,” he breathed._

_“She’s pregnant.”_

The sleigh turned again, kicking up snow on either side that sprayed outwards from the runners, and Belle let out a squeal as she was knocked against his side. Gold could feel a pleasant ache in his cheeks from too much smiling, an affliction he never thought he’d have, but was absolutely delighted by. He pulled Belle against his side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and kissed the side of her head as the sleigh came to a stop in the front drive. She grinned at him from between the upturned collar of her coat and the thick wool scarf wrapped around her neck.

“I love you,” she said, and then inched up in the seat to press her lips to his cheek.

He caught the driver of the sleigh looking back at them with a goofy grin, and laughed, shaking his head at her. “I love you too.”

He might be floating in that early phase of utter disbelief that someone as wonderful and good as Belle French could possibly love _him_ , but he was quite determined to get used to it.


End file.
